Of course I'm not talking about my lovely girlfriend who'll be there without, I hope, murderous intent. No I'm talking about the Polonium-B-loving Russian secret service. They are going to kill me, I know this because what I am about to write is the kind of information that could bring the country crashing to its knees.

I could forget what I know. I could look the other way. I could; but I won't. I owe it it to you. I owe it to myself.

So, this is it. Four little words: Putin danced to Abba.

"Whoa! Get down! If you ever speak of this I'll make a hat from your lungs"

There, I've done it, that is a relief. He denies it of course. As would anyone who had danced to Abba,  (yes, yes, it's great pop, but it's still as musically interesting as sand)  or who set up a private concert with Abba tributary Bjorn Again.

God bless.

Read it here last.